


Ocean

by freyathedark



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Gen, Original Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 10:29:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2147322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freyathedark/pseuds/freyathedark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was some kind of beautiful, there on the beach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ocean

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this about 6 years ago. It's my only piece of original fiction that is actually complete enough to post, and I'm still a little proud of it.

She was some kind of beautiful, with odd brown hair that was streaked with red and blond, like fresh-turned earth and sand, and strange blue eyes that seemed to always be a different shade of the sea, one day blue as the depths, the next a pale green.

When first he saw her, he was walking down the beach, trying desperately to seize an idea, to grasp it with his mind and coax a passable story out of it. One that would make him enough to last until he got his 'BIG IDEA' and could write something worth reading.

She was standing ankle deep in the warm water, staring out at the horizon, where a few chatty gulls flew above a storm cloud. He would have walked right past her, except she turned and snared him with her eerie blue eyes. For some reason he never knew, he walked right up and started talking to her. They stood there, he talking about his writing, she listening silently, neither of them knowing the other, both seeing a friend, and remained there for hours.

The man jerked out of the concentration he had had while talking, and looked at his watch with a startled laugh. 7 o'clock, and it felt like minutes, instead of nearly 10 hours. She tilted her head, waiting for him to go on, puzzled when he didn't. He explained he had to go, he was late. He asked for her name. She smiled. He asked if she would be there tomorrow. She smiled. He left, bewildered, inspired, and intrigued. He went back to his apartment, called his agent to apologize, and took the phone off the hook. That night, he wrote for hours, pausing only to drink a glass of water and get a new pencil. He finished his writing sometime during the night, and stumbled to his bed, falling asleep on top of his thin sheets.

He woke up in a daze, and read over his work. It would take time to make it better, but this alone could make him well known, if he had more to it. He spent that day and the next working on it, adding to it, and making it perfect. When it was done, he dropped it off at his agents, and raced to the beach, hoping the girl was there.

She was standing in the same spot as yesterday, and turning as he approached. Laughing, he stopped in front of her, grinning like a fool. He told her of his story, and she smiled at him. He asked for her name, and she shook her head. He told her his name, and asked if he could name her. She blinked, her eyes shifting colors again, then nodded.

He named her Ocean, and she smiled.

This continued for years, he going to talk to Ocean and she listening. At night, he would go and write, and in the morning he would drop it off at his agents, before racing to meet his muse. As the years passed, he grew old, his hair greying, his vision fading, but his ideas staying new and fresh. No matter what time he went to the beach, Ocean was there, looking as young as she had thirty years ago. 

When the man was 92, he knew he was dying, and went to see Ocean one last time. She was there, ankle deep in water, watching him as he hobbled towards her. He said he was dying. She nodded. He asked if he could talk to her. She nodded. He told her his life. She listened. The sun rose as he finished, and he looked at her. He thanked her for listening, and lay down in the sand near the waves. She turned her gaze back to the horizon, where gulls were circleing a cloud, and the man died.

She was some kind of beautiful, with odd brown hair and strange blue eyes, and the man was dead.


End file.
